


Playing the Long Game

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Eventual Johnlock, F/F, F/M, M theory, M/M, Refernces to torture, Slow Burn, TFP - Freeform, TJLC, canon compliant for s1-tab, post-tab, s4 rewrite, sort of, tld, tst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9858605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "I know exactly what he's going to do next."Moriarty is gone, but shadows still loom. Someone is pulling the strings behind a game that's been waiting to unfold for a very long time.Secrets grow and tensions build.And everything is about to reach its climax.Aka the s4 tjlc rewrite we all deserve(Tags will be updated after new chapters)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This follows on after tab and is based on the predictions of tjlc for s4  
> (And honestly is proof that even with my shitty writing skills we could do better than the writers did this series)

**_I know exactly what he's going to do next._ **

Nothing else was said. Two weeks and Sherlock refused to say anything else, just the assurance that Moriarty was gone yet his next moves were certain.  
John needed to know what that meant, needed to be clued in to whatever the grand scheme taking place was, but Sherlock would only smirk and divert the conversation.

It was driving John insane.

Sherlock was taking nothing but seemingly pointless cases. Even Scotland Yard were shocked at the trivial tasks pursued to the typically finicky detective.  
A stolen necklace, a lost pet, a cheating partner.  
Even John found the cases dull.  
What happened to the thrilling cases? How could he sit still when he apparently knew Moriary’s game?

“Please Mr Holmes, I need to know what my daughter is up to, it's not that I don't trust her but I don't trust this boy she's dating…”  
_Jesus,_ thought John, _Why is he even listening to this?_  
“… I know she's lying to me about where she's going…”  
The woman continued chattering on, gushing worries for her daughter’s wellbeing. John wanted to make an effort to appear interested, or at least remain professional, but his head was barely supported by his hand, mere inches from crashing into the desk. His eyes felt like they were trying to weld themselves shut.  
Any other time Sherlock would have not-so-politely shown her the door, but he was sitting there listening attentively to her every word.  
“Of course I will do everything to help. I'm sure your daughter is in no real danger and has a perfectly good reason for lying about her whereabouts.” He passed over a business card, “contact me in three days.”  
As soon as the woman had vacated the room, Sherlock turned to John, a bored expression colouring his features. “Daughter’s dating a girl. Lied about having a boyfriend to stop homophobic parents discovering them. Made up a fake address and has been sneaking away to see her girlfriend instead. Likely she's been-”  
“Why?”  
“Well it was obvious in the way-”  
“No, I mean why are you taking these cases? You don't care about any of this. Last time I tried to get you to take cases like this you blew up the microwave!”  
Rising from his chair John stood in front of the detective. “Sherlock, what’s going on?”  
A non-comital grunt was the reply.  
Trying a different tactic, John tried jumping straight to the point.  
“What did you mean when you said you knew what Moriarty was going to do next? How can he be dead if he's still going to make a move?”  
Sherlock sighed and stood up, standing far to close to John than was strictly necessary. His voice dropped to barely more than a whisper, leaning down into John's personal space. “Moriarty is a spider, John. Right now we're trapped in his web and we can't make our next move before he returns. We're waiting John. Waiting for him to make a his first move. There's nothing we can do until he does, we have to let him expose himself.”  
John cleared his throat and glanced anywhere but the piercing eyes boring into his “So this is you waiting? Just taking these useless cases.” His voice wavered more than he would have liked. Of course, he told himself, it was due to the shock of Sherlock being so close, nothing more.  
John tried stepping back, creating enough distance between the two to breathe properly. “So he's alive?”  
Sherlock scowled, “of course not, I told you. He shot himself in the head. But that doesn't mean that his organisation isn't still working. When I was in Serbia - ” He stopped. Frozen. Eyes fell to the floor. When he spoke next the words were forced, uttered in a small voice, “I thought they were gone. Apparently I didn't manage to dismantle all of it.”  
Something in the detective’s face said that the conversation was over.

John wanted to know what Sherlock meant. ‘In Serbia’. Sherlock never spoke about Serbia. John knew that it was related to the time he'd spent after the fall, but he didn't know anything about what happened there. Every time the word was so much as mentioned Sherlock would close off. Even more so than usual.  
He wasn't sure what to read into that. In anyone else he would call it fear, but Sherlock was not the most expressive person to begin with. It was just so hard to tell what he was thinking.  
Asking was not an option. As much as John longed to know, there were too many boundaries between them. Too many lines that couldn't be crossed, but you never knew where they lay until you landed in the dirt face-first.

Serbia. Sherlock hadn't meant to say it. He was so careful, so, so careful to _never_ mention it in front of John. Fleeing the living room, he flung himself into his bedroom and tried to force his breathing back to its regular pace.  
Once the memories resurfaced they were persistent. The pain that tore through his body so many months again flared up at the thought of the dark room he was kept in.  
Hours later he lay in bed, fully clothed, waking up from a nap filled with nightmares and memories. He thought he'd done it. Thought he'd dismantled Moriarty’s network. What was it all for if he hadn't even succeeded?  
Sherlock should have seen it before. Of course there were still operatives out there. With a jolt he realised Mycroft _had_ seen it. The moment he returned his brother had tried to warn him.  
_And you're sure that you have?_  
That was all he'd said about Sherlock’s two year effort. Of course Mycroft had known. Sherlock was too distracted at the prospect of returning to focus on the words. If he hadn't been thinking of Baker Street, if he hadn't been so preoccupied with John... But what was new there?  
Although one important question raised its head.  
Why hadn’t Mycroft done anything?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how long this is going to be but I hope to do I complete rewrite of s4, so I hope you guys stick around for that. I promise this will get better.


End file.
